Kryptonite
by AnnHoj
Summary: Oddly paired roommates, pints of ice cream, and spilled secrets. Who knew such a stupid mistake could be one of the best things to ever happen to her? GregSara
1. So Called Chaos

Disclaimer- Blah…blah..blah, same old, I don't own 'em. You know, if I did, do you seriously think I'd still be living in cow country Pennsylvania?…But there'll always be a place in my heart for Greggo… if he was actually a real person. Greg is not real…I'll get over it sooner or later.  
--------------------------------------------- 

Chapter One--So-Called Chaos

After her daily jog around the block, Sara unlocks her apartment door and heads to her refrigerator out of breath. She pushes her way through the newly bought groceries, all organized by food group and calorie count, to a bottle of water at the very back. She twists the top off and proceeds to the bathroom. She pulls her hair out from the tie previously keeping it out of her face and begins running water in the tub. Then she goes back to her room to rummage through her closet for something to wear after when her cell phone rings.

"Sidle...oh, hey Gil." She says after picking up the phone she keeps on her nightstand for emergencies at work.

"Sara, we've got a double homicide over on Highland Drive." She listens closely over the line holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She grabs the neatly folded pile of clothes at her bedside for early rollout calls, being that's what it would have been if she had been able to sleep.

"I'll be right over." She quickly dresses, grabs her kit, a quick bite to eat and is on her way in record time.

After a quick drive to the address Gil had given her, she finds herself at an expensive two story house in suburbia, a very unlikely place for a crime scene. She opens the trunk to get her shiny metal kit, all freshly stocked and sterilized after her last case, and slips on her black forensics vest before meeting her supervisor and the coroner inside.

"Sara?" Grissom calls hearing Sara open the door into the crystal chandelier lit foyer.

"I got here as fast as I can. Where's the body?"

"I've got the father in the kitchen...you can help Greg upstairs with the daughter."

"You mean he got here before I did?" She just shakes her head and walks up the staircase, noticing the one wall covered with framed family portraits.

They looked like the perfect family, the lawyer husband, the trophy wife, and the golden child, a curly haired ten year old girl without any other brothers or sisters. It never ceased to amaze her that it was always the least likely people to have something like this happen, but more importantly…where did mommy go?

"Yo...Sar! In the bathroom!" She hears the eager rookie yell. "You're slipping up Sidle. What took you so long?"

"I left my house five minutes ago, right after I got the 419 call from Grissom. So don't say--" Her words stop coming out as she steps in the room to see the scene. The little girl with the dark brown curls just lying lifeless in the middle of the tiled floor. "Oh God!"

"Cause of death was asphyxiation…petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes." The coroner explains as Greg continues to snap pictures from various angles.

"Dark blue fibers…terry cloth perhaps." They both simultaneously turn their focus towards the towel rack beside the shower, one dark blue towel missing.

"Hold on…we have some blonde hairs here. Our vic is clearly a brunette. Skin cells still attached…she was a fighter."

"Who could ever do something like this? The father's downstairs. Where's the mother?" She hears a distinct dripping sound coming from somewhere in the room. She looks around to find from where the noise is coming.

"The tub faucet. It wasn't turned all the way off. I don't want to mess with it until we're finished possessing the room, but it's driving me crazy. It just keeps dripping and dripping..."

Sara's eyes widen as she looks back at Greg. "Look, I've got to go!" She heads to the doorway.

"Whoa, Sara! You just got here. We aren't done in here yet. We still have the outside perimeter. I am going to get this case Sara, so I'm new, but I've spent five years in the lab. How many times have I helped you guys out?" He argues with a child-like whine to his voice.

"Enough about you! I just left my house without turning the water off in the tub!"

"What…see, I told you." He tries not to laugh. "Sara's not as perfect as she all once made us think. I mean, you all think I'm the stupid one. So I used the bathroom in a club which just happened to be a crime scene, but I've never flooded out my own apartment."

"What should I do? I can't just leave."

"Sure you can. You took five minutes to get here...and I can handle things by myself for a while. Gil will be preoccupied in the kitchen for that long, and if he's got some bugs down there, he wouldn't even notice if the mom came back and torched the place."

"I'm sure he's not going to find any bugs in a house like this."

"That's not the point Sara, just get out of here. I'll cover for you."

"I should tell him before I leave."

"Now!" He stands in the middle of the room pointing toward the door.


	2. Masterplan

Chapter Two-- Masterplan

At her door, she rifles through her pockets searching for her key, but can't seem to find it anywhere. "Looking for this Miss Sidle?" She turns around to see her land lady jingling her stash of keys, one for each room in the building. "You know, I just had to use this key a few minutes ago to turn off the water after it started to leak in to the apartment below, which just happens to be mine." The old woman speaks with a forced smile.

"I am so sorry and I'll pay for the damages. It's just that I got called in to work and my boss only gave me fifteen minutes to get over here and back…" She rambles all in one breath, but is cut off short.

"Enough with the sob story, Sara. I want you packing when you get home from work."

Once she gets back to the scene, she rushes up the front steps and into the house, hoping to avoid an interrogation from Grissom. She sneaks across the foyer to the base of a circular staircase like a teen-aged girl trying to get into the house an hour later than she had told her parents.

"Sara?" It didn't work, he had seen her. Then again, she never really got much practice when she was in high school. She always stayed at home studying while everybody else was out at parties. "How'd it go?" Grissom asks, coming in from the living room.

"I've got to get to work!" She says, purposely leaving his question unanswered and starts up the stairs. Grissom, knowing her workaholic ways, just lets it slide and returns to his own work.

"Hey, Greg?" Sara calls carefully walking up the white carpeted stairs now back at the crime scene. 

"How bad was it?" He says lifting print partials off the towel rack.

"Don't ask." She sets her kit down and moves toward him to see what he had found while she was gone. 

"Well, I did. So...spill it?"

"The worst. She evicted me, and wants me packing my things as soon as I get home from work." 

"Isn't there some kind of law against that? All you did was overfill the tub and make your landlady carry an umbrella in her own home, kind of like that DB you found in the bathtub...minus the smell." He tries to cheer her up, though Sara doesn't feel it's the right time for humor. "Okay, so it's pretty bad, funny for me, but bad, really bad." He emphasizes attempting to keep the laugh inside of him from becoming audible. "Where are you going to stay?"

"I don't know?" She hesitates a moment before asking. "Can I stay at your place?"

"You say no to my dinner offers, and now you think we should move in together. It usually doesn't work that way." He laughs. "Why are you asking me?"

"Catherine and the guys work swing shift, plus Cath's got Lindsey. You know very well I'm not good around kids... and I'm not about to ask Grissom."

"Why not?" He asks with an eyebrow raised knowing very well the answer he doubted she would admit.

"Greg, come on. I'm desperate, and it will only be for a couple days." She looks at him with the same face he usually wears to try to convince her that going out for coffee with him after shift would actually be a good idea. Too bad it never worked. "Please?"

"You know, I think I could get used to you doing the begging instead of me." He says, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Is that a yes?" She pushes his arm way.

"You know me, Sara. Anything for a friend."

-------------------------------------------

"Excuse me ma'am." Grissom apologizes, after the next door neighbor answers her doorbell donning an apron with flour on her face and a rolling pin in her hand. "Do you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary at the Robinson's home lately?"

"Well there was a plumber's truck in the driveway, though I wouldn't say that was out of the ordinary. He has been there a half a dozen times in the past two weeks, and it was always when Mr. Robinson was at the office. He leaves at about eight, the bus comes at seven, then at three the girl comes home and five the husband…depending on how busy he is. Sounds a bit fishy to me."

"About today?" He rephrases, a bit more aggravated this time.

"Today, let's see…between three and five, but he wasn't driving the truck. He was driving an SUV, blue Trailblazer, license plate number 936MTB, I believe." He gives her an odd look. "What? I have a photographic memory and my day consists of cooking and washing dishes three times a day. My kitchen window gives me a clear view of their house. Is that a crime?"

All of my hard work has finally paid off. All the buttering up, the flattery, and putting her cases first when worked in the lab, well, first after Grissom's, she wasn't just going on some date with me, she was going to be living in my apartment, sleeping in my apartment, eating her breakfast in my apartment. Finally all the candles I've been blowing out for the past five years actually did some good.

But wait...Sara is going to be living in my apartment, me living with a woman. Though it's sad to say, I've never really lived with a woman before, for a day at a time maybe. If I am living with a woman that would mean I'll have to clean up, cook more...share a bathroom in the morning! I'll have to get up at least a half an hour earlier if I want to get to work on time. What have I gotten myself into? I'll have to change everything, my manners and what I wear around the house. I doubt she would appreciate me sitting on the couch in my shorts with my bare feet propped up on the coffee table while shoveling Chinese take-out in to my mouth. Even if I did cook, what would I make, I don't know how to fix much, let alone stuff that's good enough for Sara.

All this he thought over in his car while driving himself over to Sara's apartment, or previous apartment, depending on how you look at it, to get her things ready for the big move. It seemed like woman always brought twice as much as they really needed, he had noticed. He didn't know how much she would be bringing with her; he just hoped he'd have enough room both in his car and at his place for what ever it would be. 


	3. Stranger in a Strange Land

Disclaimer- I'vegotseventy-five bucksin my wallet...but that can't buy Eric Szmanda. And I can't write songs, so I borrowed from Sinatra to give somethingfor Greg to sing. 

Chapter 3-- Stranger in a Strange Land

"Oh, you must be Mr. Sanders?" Sara's landlady stops Greg just as he steps through the first floor doorway.

"Yes, and you have got to be Mrs. Callahan. I've heard so much about you." He replies, trying to be nice to the short blue-haired old woman, knowing that Sara was not exactly on her good side at the moment. "Do you know where I can find Miss Sidle?"

"Second floor, first door on the right from the stairs."

"Thank you." He smiles, but the unimpressed expression on her face doesn't change.

He hurries up the stairs, away from the old woman's glares. He is a bit late, an hour actually. Once he gets to the top of the stairs, which he pictured would be a terrible obstacle if he ended up moving anything big, he finds her door open and Sara standing in the middle of the main room sealing up the last of the boxes.

"Hey," She parts her eyes from her packing to see him leaning on the door frame watching her. "What took you so long?"

"I...uh...I had some cleaning to do before you came and I met...uh, _Mrs. Furley_ downstairs. I'm sure glad I didn't decide to move in here." He comes in and looks around at her bare apartment. There was nothing in there except for a small pile of boxes in front of her. "Where's all your stuff?"

"Well, while you were 'cleaning up' I went with my neighbor and brought the stuff I didn't need to storage until I find another apartment."

"I'm sorry, Sara. I..."

"No, it's okay. I never asked for your help, you volunteered yourself, but you're here now." She reminds him, putting a big box in his hands to carry out to her car. "I don't think anything can break in there."

* * *

"Oh Greg, I love your place." The place was a lot different from Sara's. Hers was so plain, white walls, not at all welcoming, and it never really felt like her home. After all, she spent more time at the crime lab than she did at her apartment anyway.

His place just felt so warm and inviting, like she wasn't intruding by staying there. When she walks in, she can smell something cooking in the kitchen to her left and sees a hallway to her right to where she imagined the rest of the rooms were.

Greg follows behind her, though unable to see anything past the two boxes blocking his peripheral vision. He walks past her and in to the living room. "Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa." He sets the boxes down in the corner underneath the old framed Superman comics on the wall and a shelf of Star Wars figurines, then heads for the door to get a couple from their cars.

"Who are these guys in here?" She looks back and forth from one clear glass cage to the other; a turtle in one and four hermit crabs in the other.

"That's Walter there on the left, and John, Paul, George, and Ringo on the right."

"Why would you name crabs after Beatles?"

"I'm not Grissom. I don't have bugs as pets, but crabs and turtles don't die easy. Notice that's why you don't see any plants...or sea monkeys, but we won't talk about that."

"What's cooking?" She asks stopping him in the door way.

"Oh, you'll see."

"Have a seat." He says, pulling out her chair from the small breakfast table between the kitchen and the living room. "I wanted to make up for being late, so I actually cooked dinner."

"Should I be worried?"

"I promise, my cooking does not kill...well, not since college, but even then it just made my roommate sick for a week. He deserved it though." He jokes, before disappearing behind the barrier closing off the table from the rest of the kitchen.

"_Are the stars out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright_." He comes out of the kitchen singing with both plates of spaghetti, a towel draped over one arm, and an old Fedora rested crookedly on his head.

"Greg--" She starts so speak, but he keeps singing, not comparable to Frank himself, but still not too bad.  
"_'Cause I only have eyes for you, dear. The moon may be high but I can't see a thing in the sky_." He sets the plate in from of her and one at his seat then takes a lighter out of his pocket to light the single candle in the middle of the table. "_'Cause I only have eyes for you._" He shakes the lighter and tries again but it simply refuses to light. "Okay, fine then. No dinner by candlelight." He speaks directly to the stubborn stick of wax in front of him.

"No wonder you were late." She laughs. The whole thing was a bit out of character for the man with the punk rock taste in music, but never had anyone else done anything comparable to it just for her. "Do you think fast on your feet, or do you do this for everyone who stays at your place?"

"No, just you Sara. And don't worry, it's a special vegetarian recipe. I know about your whole pig experiment experience."

"How thoughtful." She wasn't sure how to take this; as a friendly gesture, or an attempt to make up for their past dinner date she ditched him on to work on a new lead for her case.

They both sit down to dinner, Greg trying his best to be polite. Normally when eating pasta he'd look like a little kid using eating utensils for the very first time, but he wanted to be on his best behavior with Sara. She never could tolerate how he would goof off in the lab or how he could never take anything too seriously, but he wanted her to see how he could be if he tried.

"You didn't really sneak out, did you?" She just shakes her head. "I knew you couldn't do it and Gil would just let you go without question because you're Super Sara, his favorite CSI."

"I am not."

He doesn't continue the argument and moves on. "About work, my money is on the missing wife or the mysterious plumber, but it's proving it that's the hard part. She could be anywhere--" He takes his napkin off the table and neatly places in on his lap.

"Greg, stop it."

"What? I'm not just jumping to conclusions here. The tire treads in the driveway match the kind of car that the neighbor placed at the house. You'd have to be leaving in a hurry to leave behind tire treads in a twenty foot driveway."

"No, that's not what I mean. Greg, this isn't you. You don't cook. Every person at Ming Gardens knows you by your first and last name and the usual Lo Mein and wontons, you're there so much...and half of them don't even speak fluent English. You cleaned up before you came to get me. Trust me, I know you don't clean. Imagine how the lab would be if Grissom didn't scare you into keeping everything organized into specially marked plastic bins!"

"Well, I--"

"Just be yourself." She says calmly.

"How can I be when you can't stand me to begin with."

"I do not. Well, maybe the Greg I met when I came to Vegas. If you hadn't noticed; you're a lot different. You're finally growing up, Greggo." She laughs. Not that she was at all immature to begin with, she had noticed a change in herself when she first started as a level one, but it was even more so that she saw happen with him in just the last few months.

"So, do you like Chinese take out? I didn't think you would."

"I'm not too picky. I'd rather sit in front of the TV, a take out box in one hand and a beer in the other, than go to the lab's annual black and white banquets...if that helps you any."

"So I can leave dirty socks on the bathroom floor?"

"Now, let's not go that far."


	4. Caring is Creepy

Not mine, never was and never will be...sadly enough. 

Chapter 4-- Caring is Creepy

"I never thought you'd be one to watch Court TV too." She states, coming back from the bathroom after changing in to an old pair of shorts and her Harvard sweatshirt and sitting down beside him on the couch. "Greg?" She questions since he didn't respond with words, but only a stare.

"You wear glasses?" He says miming to black plastic framing her brown eyes.

"Yeah, you didn't know that? I'm always afraid they'll get broken at work and with the frames my whole peripheral vision is thrown off."

"Well, I like them whether you do or not."

"And you go for a girl in glasses? I wouldn't have thought such a thing." The one thing she never understood; why was she the one he always asked out for coffee? She had met his last girlfriend. She was blonde, blue -eyed, and beautiful, so why was she the one he wasted his time asking. She was just science geek Sara, how would she ever compare to that.

"I guess we're not all what we may seem." He sighs, focusing on the new episode of _Forensic Files_, but something is stillbugging him. "How is it that I've known you for five years, and everything I once thought couldn't be more wrong? I start out thinkingyourthis one person, butthen you show me this other person, whom I happen to like ahell of a lot better.ThenI wonder what happened to the old Sara,becauseI still like the old Saratoo...Do you just like messing with my mind?"

"Since it's so easy to do?" She throws Greg a comment that normally would be something he would say, but when the tables are turned all he can do is sit there and angrily glare back towards her.

"That was not nice Sara." He says slowly attempting to sound serious.

"So what do you need to know?"

"Let's see...what is your biggest pet peeve? I mean, I know you have a lot of them, but I want to make my guest feel at home."

"I hate it when people sing along with the radio."

"Ooh, I don't think I can compromise with you there. I think you'll just have to deal with it." He doesn't give her a chance to respond before continuing with his next question. "Would this new nicer Sara have shot me down too? I know you go for older men, not mentioning any names of course, but have you ever once thought about going out for coffee with younger one?" It was mostly jokingly. He knew how much it bugged her when the "old Greg" would constantly ask. In fact, he could bet it was one the top ten on that list of things,but it was like a tradition now.

"Enough with the questions, Greg!"

"One more...I promise."

"What?"

"You don't have anything against dairy products, do you...ice cream, chunky monkey perhaps?"

"I hope you're offering."

* * *

Sara wanders down the hallway and through the living room in the middle of the night. On her way to the kitchen, she carefully tiptoes blind past a snoring Greg sprawled out on the couch. 

"Ouch!" She hops on one bare foot after stubbing the other on the coffee table in the dark.

She continues on her mission to the big white refrigerator for a midnight snack, feeling the cold tiles underneath her feet. She opens the door letting the light from inside move to the rest of the kitchen. Its contents are quite scarce, since besides tonight, he never did much cooking. She pushes aside the brown bottles and Chinese takeout boxes to the container of leftover spaghetti. She hated to admit it, but he could cook... pasta at least. She reaches to the very back to it when, "Ouch!" She yells for the second time in the last few minutes after a very rude tap on the shoulder. "Greg, what do you think you're doing?" She asks angrily, rubbing the same place in which her head hit metal.

"I should be asking you the same thing; after all, you are raiding my fridge." Greg laughs at Sara's expression. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

"You didn't scare me and I'm just fine by the way. Remember, you did make dinner for me, so this food mine as much as it is yours."

"No...No, really. Just let me see. You hit it pretty hard." Heinsists, grabbing a dish towel and a couple of ice cubes from the freezer.

"No, Greg. I just want to eat. That's why I here in the kitchen in the middle of the night." She moves toward the microwave to warm up the pasta.

"Boy, you eat a lot."That comment is soon followed by a look from Sara that could give them a whole other crime scene. "A big dinner and a big bowl of ice cream...that's more than I can eat after work. Sara, get over here!" He flicks on a small light above the sink. She reluctantly sets the container down and comes back over to him. She flashes him another annoyed look before hopping up on the counter.

She bends her head down to his view. "You happy now?"

"Yes, now hold this there for a bit and you'll be okay."

"What did I say? And people call me the stubborn one." She tries to get down from the counter but his hand on her kneejust won'tallow it.

He lifts her left foot up to his level. "How's your toe, did my stubborn coffee table cause any major damage, because Doctor Greg can check that out too."

"Why don't you stick to crime scene investigating? You're less irritating that way."

"Is that why you can't sleep? The case?"

"No, it's just insomnia. Eating helps me sleep...and reading, but all my entomology textbooks are in storage."

"Well eat, sleep, whatever floats your boat. I'm tired, and if I want to keep on Gil's good side, I shouldn't be falling asleep on the job, so goodnight." He starts to retire to his new residence on the couch. "Oh, and by the way...I like this new, less Super Sara who messes up once in a while. It's less intimidating that way."

* * *

"I got the phone records from the Robinson's. She placed two calls to Jenkins' Plumbing and six to Scott Jenkins' home phone number this week, one at 2:30 this afternoon." Sara takes the papers out of her case file to prove it. 

"The DNA from the hairs is male, but we need a suspect to compare it, a Mr. Jenkins' perhaps. I did find his prints in the bathroom, but he _is_ a plumber. That"s why he was called to the house…supposedly." Greg informs his co-workers between bites of his lunch in the conference room. "Oh, and the coroner also found the same blue fibers the girl's airway, so one of the towels in the bathroom, I'm guessing, is the murder weapon…in a sense."

"I looked all over that house for the knife that was used on the father, but there are only five knives in the set on the counter. Steak knives don't come in sets of five." Gil mentions. "Weapon of opportunity?"

"Or was it pre-planned and the assailant was familiar with the kitchen…knew where they could find the knives and didn't bother to bring their own?"

"The world may never know?"

"No Greg." His supervisor seems not in the least bit amused by his humor. What a surprise.

"Stay focused…stay serious. I know, I'm working on that. It takes time."


	5. Midnight Rambler

A/N- We're gettin' a little less _fluffy _in this chapter. I'm not a big fan of complete fluff, so enough ice cream and on with the secrets. Sorry for those who love humor and hate drama. But it'll get a little lighter later, I promise, just not right now. Hope y'all like it. 

Chapter 5-- Midnight Rambler

"Sara...hey you." He snaps his fingers in front of her face before turning off the television completely.

"Hey…I was watching that!"

"Don't you get enough of this stuff at work? You don't need to go home, watch hour after hour of Court TV and call it research." She tries to snatch the remote out of his hands. "No, you need to get some sleep. Go on, it's late."

"Fine." She, reluctantly, gets up and heads towards the bathroom. "You know, I can sleep on the couch so you can have your room back." She peeks her head out of the bathroom doorway, her sounds muffled by blue minty foam and a toothbrush in the corner of her mouth.

"No, you are a guest. Nana Pernilla always said, _'it's not polite to make your company sleep on the couch'_, And I don't intend to." He pulls a nicely folded stack of blankets out of the hall closet. "Plus, knowing how stubborn you are, you'd probably turn the TV back on and stay up half the night learning how important forensic earprints can be in certain cases or what not. You can't fool me. I know all the tricks in the book."

As Sara slips under the comforter of her bed, Greg makes his own on the couch. He knew that this case bothered Sara. Every case bothered Sara, especially those in which the victim was a young woman. Though this was the murder case of a father and daughter with the wife and mother mysteriously no where to be found. It made no sense to him, but many things Sara had done before managed to leave the same impression on him.

Ever since she had gotten suspended her after she was "disrespectful" towards Catherine and "unprofessional" with a suspect, she hadn't really acted out while working on a case. When she was working her way there, Gil was a lot easier on her, but Greg figured that could have beenfor more personal reasons.

He has been asleep for nearly fifteen minutes when suddenly he's awaken from his dream by a deathful scream emerging from inside his room. He bounds off the couch and hurries to her side to see what possibly could be wrong.

"Sara...hey, it's just me." He places a calming hand to her right cheek as she tries to catch her breath. "Shh...You're okay. Shh..." He whispers with a finger to his own lips before brushing a strand of chestnut hair out of her face. He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. "What's wrong?" Looking into her dark tear-stained eyes, he can still see the terror deep in them. "Was it a dream? What did you see?" He whispers into her hair as he holds her close to his chest.

It wasn't like she was a five year old little girl again. It had to be something serious. He had never really seen Sara cry before. She was known to get over emotional, but she'd just get angry instead of letting other people see her tears.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up...again." She says pulling herself free from his arms and quickly wiping away her own tears.

"No...No, don't worry…You didn't." He lies, but only a little one.

She starts to crawl back into bed and rolls over away from him.

"What is wrong, Sara? You don't just wake up screaming and shaking for no reason." She doesn't move. "Come on, I know you're not asleep, Sidle!" He rolls her by the shoulderback over to face him.

"What!"

"You can tell me. Is it the case getting to you? Because after my first, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I--"

"Do you want to know why I'm always so angry; what makes me act the way I do?" She sits back up, her knees pulled close to her chest, giving him room to sit.

"You mean the kind of stuff that got you suspended?" He moves from where he sat at her feet, to a top the pillow beside her.

"It just brings back a lot of old memories, ones I don't really want to remember. I mean, yes, there's a lot that I have forgotten, but it's the strangest things that get imprinted in your mind."

"You don't need to…only if you really want to tell me." As she begins telling the story, he notices the tone of her voice sounding reluctant to go on. But she doesn't listen to him.

"I remember how the air smelled. I was baking cookies with my dad for the school bake sale, when she came into the house yelling at dad. She sent me to my room so she could 'talk things over with him'. I didn't...I didn't listen to her. I hid behind the couch in the living room. Of course, I should have been used to it..." Greg doesn't say anything, only keeps her company with open ears and her hand comfortably in his.

"I thought they were fighting because of me. She never liked me to be in the kitchen because I always made too much of a mess." Greg watches as tears that had been forced to stay in the corners of her eyes start to slowly roll down her flushed cheeks.

"Then there was silence. It was the most silence I've ever heard in one room before. I looked around the couch...to see...my mother put a knife into my father. All the fights, the bickering, the occasional trips to the emergency room. I thought it was normal, like every family had those problems, but when I saw blood spattered on the walls and my father lying on the floor in a pool of blood mixed with the bag of flour I had spilled, I knew I couldn't have been more wrong."

"Oh God! Sara, I'm so sorry." He wipes away a tear with his thumb, and brings her hand still in his other up to his face. "I shouldn't have asked."

It isn't like Sara to open up and tell someone exactly what is on her mind. He, for the first time, is speechless. He doesn't know what to say to help. Knowing him, it wouldn't come out as he intended and she'd take it the wrong way.

"Is that why you became a CSI?"

"I don't know, maybe." She takes her hand back from his. "After I moved in with my foster family, the kids at school still talked about me, _'the girl whose mother killed her father'_. It was like they were afraid of me, like what my mom did was genetic. So, as a result of having no friends, I just studied because my new family always said how smart I was and how proud I made them. The more I see at work now, the more I can actually understand what was going on in her head, why she just snapped. I saw all that he did to her. She'd lie to me whenever I'd ask about the bruises on her arms. One time she said she was trying on a pair of heels for wedding and fell...or she fell off the step ladder when she was repainting one of the rooms in the B&B. I'm not trying to justify what she did, but if anyone ever put me through what she had to live with…there's no telling what I might do."

She starts laughing, laughing for no better reason than to stop herself from crying. It was like any other time, and when she got to this point she knew she had really lost it. It was then when she'd usually turn to her friend at the bottom of a bottle and only hope that eventually she'd pass out and she wouldn't have to think about all it anymore. She was alone then, trapped in her apartment with nothing else to do but meet with her brown glass friends in the refrigerator, and couldn't find anyother way around it. But she knew he wouldn't let her, and she couldn't be more greatful for that.

"I'm so sorry, Sara." He pulls Sara's near lifeless form to his shoulder, but she pushes him away.

"Just stop it, stop saying you're sorry! I didn't tell you to make you feel sorry for me. I told you because I knew you'd listen." Between sobs her words come out with more of an angry tone than she had intended. She was relieved Greg was by her side and she didn't want to push him away now. If she was alone in her own apartment right now, she knew she wouldn't have further to fall before hitting bottom and he wouldn't be there to catch her.

"Sara, I just don't know anything else to say. Does Gil know about this…know about your family?"

"My first day of suspension he came over to check up on me…wanting to know why I was always so angry. I had never really talked about it before then. Why?"

"You know it took him a while to call you to the crime scene. That's why I was there before you. Don't you notice anything in particular about this case? He was trying to protect you. He knew how you would react. Why else would he think to call on me, a trainee, before you?" He pauses awhile to let what he said sink in, gently rubbing her shoulders as he does. "You think you'll be okay?"

"I think."

"Now, you…" He says getting up from the bed. "...try to get some sleep." He bends down and kisses her forehead. "Good night…_again_." As he starts to walk away from her she grabs his arm to stop him.

"Can you stay...please?" She rolls back over to face the windows glowing from the outside light as Greg lies down beside her without another word uttered between the two.

He stares up at the ceiling unable to get what she had confessed out of his mind. When he started in the field, he never really imagined what it would be like if anyone he new was ever the victim in one of his cases. For Sara to see that first hand and then have to relive it day after day at work, it's no wonder why she acts the way she does.

He always admired Sara. She was always so focused on work, so dedicated, determined, all the things he never could be. Along with the good, always comes the bad. She had her flaws, more than her fair share, and none of which he really cared about. But of course she cared. She was self-destructive and had constantly put the blame on herself for everything that ever went wrong with her life when, in reality, most of it was all out of her hands. Taking her work so seriously was just an attempt to make up for everything she never could control. He said before that she wasn't the _Super Sara_ he once thought, but he now realized she was for reasons he had never once imagined.

Just thethought of her hiding behind the couch scared for her own life as she watched her mother take away her father's haunted him. He couldn't bear to think that her mother could possibly have done the same thing to her own daughter as she did to her husband. The sight of Sara's body at nine years old laying lifeless on one of Doc Robbins' shiny silver tables pained him to even think about. It's a good thing he still had plenty of his sacred Blue Hawaiian coffee stashed because he could tell he wouldn't have the easiest of times to get to sleep.

He looks over to Sara who was already well on her way to dreamland. She is curled up in a ball with one arm underneath her pillow and a faint snoring sound coming from her lips. She looks so peaceful; her hair tousled lying underneath his sheets. Greg had always wondered what it would be to share a room with Sara, but never once did he think it would involve tears and horrifying childhood memories.


	6. What's the Story Morning Glory?

Not until I hop a flight to the West Coast and kidnap Greg...then and only then can I say I offically own him or anyone else from CSI. But watch out! 

Chapter 6-- What's the Story Morning Glory?

The next morning, or late afternoon as her schedule goes, Sara awakes to the light streaming in from between the window blinds into the otherwise dark room. She looks around, forgetting momentarily where she had fallen asleep last night, to find her right arm draped over a rather large pillow, a large pillow that seemed to be breathing...it was Greg. She quickly repositions herself facing the windows again as she was when she fell asleep. If staying at Greg's apartment wasn't awkward enough, last night definitely filled its void.

Thinking over it, she has no idea what made her actually ask him to stay with her, but he did, and not just until she closed her eyes and then left. Then again, he'd jump off a bridge for a friend if they asked him. Of course, she did know that he wasn't intent with staying just friends with her. She had gotten used to blowing off his dinner invitations, but after actually taking the time to get to know him over the past few days, she actually felt bad about it.

She gets up from underneath the sheets and walks quietly over to the other side of the bed to the bathroom to get ready to 'greet the day', leaving him to sleep a bit longer.

"Hey...Greg!" She hovers over him peacefully sleeping, his eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks. She shakes him by the shoulder on the side he wasn't sleeping on to try to wake him before she left early for work, but it was uneventful. So she quickly left a note and went on her way.

* * *

For the first day in a long time the break room, no music is playing, no one is rambling on about his coffee stash or chatting up female co-workers. As a matter of fact, there is hardly any sound what so ever. It is near time for Greg to pick up some samples that Mia said were on their way, but instead he sits at the table beside his copy of the case file half asleep. 

He had just gotten to work, though his face is flushed and looks worn out all ready. His eyelids feel heavier by the second, as he rests his head in his hands. Greg is close to slipping away to dreamland, until he hears Sara's voice drawing closer and Grissom's following close behind, causing him to jump out of his seat.

"No music today?" Sara points to the lone CD player last left in the corner at the end of yesterday.

"No...I don't think my head could take it." The room was already spinning before and it only worsens after he gets up.

He puts a hand to his head and catches himself on the table with the other to keep himself from falling over. He had stood up just a bit too fast.

"Whoa Greg...you don't look so good." Grissom asks after circling the whole lab,finally to find him here. "Busy night last night?" He raises his eyebrows in suspicion.

"I wish." Greg laughs weakly and sits back down on the stool.

"Are you okay?" Sara knew he probably got three hours of sleep at the most last night, thanks to her 'story time'. Though, he seemed fine when she left earlier to look at an apartment that was for rent before going to work. Of course, he was sound asleep, but there was nothing unusual there.

The duo moves closer, leaning over him, examining as if he was a body at a crime scene. Grissom places the back of his hand to Greg's forehead, but quickly pulls his hand back at the touch of his warm skin. "God Greg, you're burning up!"

"Not to mention nauseous, dizzy, and extremely tired...the reason I was near asleep until you walked in here."

"If you were sick, why did you come to work?"

"Well--" He gets cut off.

"Sara, can you drive him home? You do know where it is, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can find it." She fibs quickly and begins to help him to his feet, hoping Greg wouldn't catch it and inform Grissom of their current living arrangements.

"Won't you need my help?" He pushes away from Sara's grasp and sits back down.

"No, Sara and I will be fine without you. Even if you did stay, you wouldn't be much help. Go home, get some sleep."

"Oh, it's nice to know that I'm completely useless around here."

"Greg, you can hardly walk without falling over."

"Thanks for the post-it, I appreciate finding pink paper posted on my forehead when I look in the mirror." He says from the passenger seat of Sara's Denali.

"I tried you tell you before I left, but you were dead to the world and I didn't think it would be too nice to bring out the ice cubes."

"You said you didn't know where my house is when you very well where it is. If you're so ashamed of me, why didn't you just ask Gil in the first place?" He asks, unsuccessfully acting very hurt by it all.

"Why did you come to work anyway?" She asks Greg ignoring what he'd just asked, her eyes glued to the road ahead of her. Through the years she had known Greg, she had never seen him actually be this sick. Any other time, he only had a minor cold. Even so, he made a big deal about it, like he was practically dying when all he had was a runny nose. This time he swore nothing was wrong with him.

"Well, I happen to like working on the field...and want to keep working there." He rests his head on the passenger seat window. "Grissom, he gets me all...nervous. It's like this force not be reckoned with."

"I think he has that effect on everyone."


	7. Miracle Cure

Must I put disclaimers on every chapter? It get's rather tiring if I do say so myself. Wouldn't you think that if a person did own this stuff, they would be off writing something brilliant to make some money, not sitting in their pajamas eating ice cream?

Chapter 7-- Miracle Cure

"Now do you need anything? Like medicine…did you take any this morning or eat anything? You should eat. I sometimes get dizzy when I haven't eaten before going in to work." She asks, watching him walk over to the living room couch and sit down. He doesn't answer. She walks over closer to him and asks again. "Did you hear me?" She sits down beside him, hoping he could hear at least that far. "Do want me to do anything for you?"

He lies down, resting his head in her lap and his feet on the arm of the opposite end of the couch. "Well...that depends..." He says with a devilish grin.

"Mr. Sanders...even when you're sick, that's still all you think about?" She speaks down to him, gently stroking his hair. "And you can spend an hour in front of the mirror, but you can hardly walk without falling over. I've got to get back to work. Go on, get your pajamas on and off to bed. Are you sure you don't need me to get anything?"

"No _mom_!" He says lifting his head slightly off its pillow.

"Okay, I get it." She heads toward the door. "I'll check up on you later, all right." Sara opens the door and shuts it behind her, leaving Greg for a day off work. Too bad he had to spend it alone trapped in his apartment.

* * *

Sara parks her car in the parking lot near Greg's apartment at the end of a long day trapped in the lab analyzing confusing case evidence. She grabs a grocery bag from the passenger seat and uses the remote to lock the doors behind her. Grissom had ordered her to leave work a bit early to check up on Greg, not knowing that she'd end up going there either way. She had also made a quick stop at the store to pick up some chicken noodle soup. 

She walks down the hallway, room 102. She raises her hand in attempt to knock on the door. She figures he's probably still dozing on the couch in front of the television. She, instead of disturbing him, turns the knob and opens the door herself. As she does, she hears the sound loud music playing and Greg in the middle of the kitchen trying to dance.

"_Darling you gotta let me know...Should I stay or should I go?_" He drops the cereal bowl into the sink, keeping the spoon in his hand belting out the lyrics into it. "_If you say that you are mine...I'll be here 'til the end of time...So you got to let me know_." He opens the refrigerator looking around for something. _"...Should I stay or should I go?_"

Sara still stands in shock, attempting to hold back laughter. She's silent, hoping Greg wouldn't notice her standing there. He had always been a bit odd at work when he knew people were around, but she never could guess what he was capable of doing when he knew he was alone.

"_Always tease tease tease...You're happy when I'm on my knees...One day is fine, next is black...So if you want me off your back...Well, come on and let me know_…" He sings loud and a tad off key in front of the open refrigerator. He pauses to take a drink straight out of the orange juice container. "_Should I stay or should_--" He turns around to face Sara still standing in the doorway. He drops the orange juice when she startles him. It spills all over the tile floor. "_...I...go_," he finishes, frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights. The door is closed behind her, so at least his neighbors hadn't witnessed his humiliation as well.

Of course the whole situation would be a lot less embarrassing on Greg's behalf, if he had been in more than just his shorts. "I can explain..."

"What...high off cough medicine?"

"I just got out of the shower and...And I was feeling better." He stutters before turning off the radio. His hair is still wet and hangs loosely, not standing on end after his half an hour in front of the mirror every morning as she's accustomed to seeing it.

"Yeah...I really... should go." He manages to get out before scurrying back into his bedroom to make himself more presentable.

Sara sets the can of soup on the countertop and takes a roll of paper towels before getting down on her hands and knees to clean up. "The flu...really?" She says to herself.

A minute or so later he comes back out to the kitchen after slipping in to an old tee shirt and pajamas, still baring his toes. He hadn't bothered with his hair either.

"So this flu was more like a...twelve-hour flu? Remind me next time to bring my own orange juice."

He hops up on the countertop beside the soup, looking down to Sara wiping up the last remains of the spill. "I couldn't sleep so--"

"--You decided to play the home version of American Idol instead? And please, stick to Sinatra. At least you can sing that stuff."

"Yes _Simon_, you eat when you can't sleep, I make a fool out of myself in the safety of my own home, plus you don't like when people sing with the radio, and since I can do it any other time..."

"How do you even know all the words to a Frank Sinatra song? It's not exactly your thing."

"Nana Pernilla is a big fan. Papa Olaf and I still haven't convinced her that he's dead and has been for eight years now. She made me listen to it...all the time. She told me if I ever planned on winning over a woman, I should practice up." He glances up towards Sara and laughs to himself. "But, it 's not like it's still the fifties..."

"But entertaining none the less. Nice...legs, Greg." She says getting up off the floor and throwing the towels in the trash.

"Yeah, they're not exactly one of my best physical attributes. Note that's plural, as I have many." He picks up the can beside him, looking at the label suspiciously.

"Ooh, alphabet noodles."


	8. Indoor Fireworks

Okay the T rating is mostly for this chapter, but it's really tame compared to other fics that I've read. I am simply not capable of writing smut, I swear!

Also, oddly enough I had already planned for Greg to givethe Yoko Ono line, and then I watched gumdrops a few weeks ago and he actually used it about Warrick's wife. Psychic...

Chapter 8--Indoor Fireworks

"So how did everyone survive today without me?" He asks across the small table where he sits over his steaming bowl of soup.

"Don't get me started."

"What now?"

"The mother's DNA or fingerprints doesn't match any of our evidence because we still don't have the knife. We have male DNA, but we don't have Jenkins' sample to compare it. Mia's stressed out..."

"Oh, how I hated that job. Now if I just don't screw up this one..." He takes up a spoonful, blows on it and takes a bite. "Sara...you look like you could use some time off yourself. I doubt you've got a good nights' sleep in weeks." He leans closer to her face, staring into her tired eyes,which seem to begetting heavier by the second. "Are those circles under there? Wait a minute...Oh, Grissom problems?" He suspects suddenly, though in a teasing sort of way.

"What Grissom problems...I don't have Grissom problems. What are you talking about?" She says quickly in her defense.

"Come on, I know I do a lot of stupid things, but I'm anything but that. Everyone knows it, so there's no use in trying to hide it." She just sits in silence, trying to think of something to say.

"Fine." She scoffs in surrender. "He just doesn't get it, and there's nothing I can do. To him, I'm just not worth risking his job. I'm just over it, already!"

She rests her head down on the table after he releases her hand. Only after a long silence followed by the continuous clanking sound of a bowl and spoon does she lift her head.

"What are you doing?" She looks up to see him slide his plate across the table before getting up to put the bowl in the sink. She takes a second look at it, lined up in the middle are five soup letters, I...LUV...U. She stares at the message, not sure if she was to consider it literally or not. After all, it was Greg. "Very funny, Sanders." She yells to him in the kitchen, taking it jokingly.

Greg walks back over to the table, not finishing the dishes. He stands behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he glances at the plate where his sandwich had once been. "I'm being serious." He leans over to whisper in her ear. Then he quickly goes back to the sink to finish the washing.

Sara gets up from the table, taking the plate to the sink. Saradrops the plate into the soapy water.Her handtaps Greg on the shoulder, making him turn his attention from the bubbly water. She pats the left side of his face. "You see, that's one thing I like about you. A guy who does his own dishes."

"What, I thought I was '_trying too hard_'?" She moves her hand down to his neck and pulls him close enough to kiss. She pushes him against the countertop in front of the sink. He props himself up on the farthest side of the sink, until his right elbow gives out and his hand slips in to the soapy water.

She had enough of waiting around for Gil to make up his mind whether she meant more to him than his job. And if he had to take this many years to think about it, he wasn't worth it. She finally found someone who cared about her and wasn't afraid to tell her.

"I take that as a no."

"Sorry--" She tries to speak but is cut off by Greg's lips and suds splashed.  
He moves across the kitchen and down the hallway, taking Sara with him. He walks backward, actively working at the buttons of her shirt.

Never did he really think she'd say yes to something like this before having that cup of coffee. Since the Hank incident, Sara hadn't really trusted guys too easily. He assumed Gil's silent rejection didn't help Sara's view on men either. It seemed that a few bad apples of his kind always ruined it for the rest of them, he included. He leans forward, but she pulls away from him.

"Greggo...I can't do this. We can't do this." She stops him, pressed against the doorframe of his bedroom. "We work together." Her hand slides down his bare chest as she pushes herself away from him.

"Sara, I'm sorry." Greg says, unsure of how she really felt about the incident. "I really am." He watches her walk down the hall a bit and pick up her shirt off the blue carpet.

"No...Don't apologize, there's no need." She says, quickly buttoning the buttons to hide the black lace underneath. She continues down the corridor to the living room and plops down on the far end of the couch. Greg's bare feet follow her foot steps down the hall; he takes a seat beside her.

"You just spilled out your one darkest family secret, detail by detail, and what did I do? Take advantage of the situation, that's what…and to you, Sara? " He runs his hand through his hair and props his elbows on his knees, avoiding any eye contact with her what so ever. "I'm so stupid. I'm--."

"I started it and ended it. Don't worry." She moves closer to him, but he moves away.

"You've been hurt enough; you don't need any help from me." He takes his shirt from beside him and slips it over his head.

"Greg, it's not like that. It's just...us. It would be…complicated."

"They always say not fall for your co-workers…" He lets out a short nervous laugh. "But I did...why? You've worked so hard to get where you are now. I'd just be the one to ruin it all…I'd be your Yoko!"

"You're using Beatles' references?" She finally gets the serious look off her face and replaces it with her gap-toothed smile. "You know, I'm sounding just like Gil. I'm so wrapped up in worrying about work to even give myself a chance to ever have a personal life." That was the thing that bothered her the most, that really for all this time Sara was treating Greg much like Grissom always was with her. For some reason, she had never realized that until now.

"Just as long as you don't start collecting dung beetles, get excited when a DB is found in a box full of fire ants and break roller coaster records on your days off for fun, I think you'll be okay."

"But what about Ecklie? We could lose our jobs if he thinks this, whatever this might be, would affect our work." She sits in silence for a moment.

Greg's eyes wander toward Sara's. He loved the look she got on her face when she was deep in thought. All the girls he had told Nick about in the past were never the type that could past that test, but his tastes had changed immensely through the years. Everything he saw when he looked at Sara could possibly be the reason nothing of much importance happened with the others. No one else could ever compare to her in his eyes.

Sara's grin suddenly spreads across her face. "We wouldn't have to let him know. He so clueless of what's going on half the time." She says moving back over towards his end of the couch.

"You're saying we should give us a chance?"

"You know, just take things nice and slow and see where it takes us." She puts her hand over his, which is nervously gripping the couch's cushion.

"Well, you do notice we're all ready living together."

"Not for long...I found an apartment. I'll be moving in this Saturday."


	9. Twisted Logic

**And it all comes to an end...the case at least. And this Mrs. Robinson has nothing to do with the Simon and Garfunkel song or The Graduate, it's just what happened to pop into my head at the time. Sorry, it's kind of a short chapter, but I thought it need to be separated from the next one.**

Chapter 9-- Twisted Logic

"Mr. Jenkins…Scott Jenkins?" Brass knocks three times on the townhouse's front door, a warrant in hand. "Las Vegas Police!" He looks back to the three CSIs waiting behind him. "Mr. Jenkins…" he turns the doorknob,finding ithadn't been locked."…your door is open." He and his entourage continue into the entry room.

Everything is in its place, one coat for each hook on the coat rack and three pairs of men's shoes lined up side by side on the mat right inside the door. The sound of afootball game comes from the TV in the living room. "Mr. Jenkins…hello?"

"Maybe I should have been a plumber…this guy's got it better off than I do." Greg says trailing behind in awe of the house and the high-def television in the living room.

"You might want to rephrase that." Gil suggests, over hearing his comment.

"Why should—" He stops in mid sentence after seeing Mr. Jenkins' body in the middle of the kitchen floor appearing just like the father's scene at the Robinson's residence.

Brass reaches to his right side for his gun. "Gris, are you carrying?" He doesn't answer but mimics the detective's motion.

"Greg, get Sara out of here!" Grissom orders, an authoritative tone in his voice, one he very rarely uses with his subordinates.

"But I'm trained in weapon and weaponless defense! It's Greg who isn't. He isn't even allowed to carry a-" She begins, resistant to leave.

"Now, Sara!" Greg knows that one should not argue with an angered Grissom, so he seizes Sara by the shoulder and escorts her back out the front door to wait until the coast was clear.

The two men begin to clear the room looking like a duo at a casting call for the next James Bond movie, minus the suitsand alot more serious. Their number one suspect had just been scratched off the list, so now who did it, and more importantly, where are they at the moment.

While looking around the first floor, Gil spots a pair of red heels and matching handbag on the coffee table, not necessarily something a woman would leave behind. He walks back to the kitchen, to hear footsteps coming down the stairs. The two men slowly move closer to where the sounds came, weapons drawn in front of them. Before they can get out of the room…"Mrs. Robinson!"The fiery red-head appears in the doorway, the steak knife missing from her house firmly in her grasp. "Drop your weapon, drop it!" Brass orders backing away from her. "Ma'am!"

She drops the knife and raises her hands up toward her shoulders to prove it. The knife lands point down into the beige linoleum tile behind her, leaving a small drop of stick crimson liquid on the floor.

"Mrs. Robinson?"

"Yes, I did it…this and your last crime scene…with reason of course. But look…you've caught me…you won." The woman says in an eerie emotionless tone to her voice.

"With reason?" What possible rational reason could any one have for committing murder…and to do it again?

"I wasn't finished. My husband, it was the only way out…the only thing left I could do." She rolls up her sleeves and approaches the two nervous men. "You need motive? I've got plenty of it. You don't know what all he did to me, no one does. I'm sure you remember the staircase in my house…see this here." She pulls the sleeve of her blouse off her shoulder to show a large patch of black and blue. "He never liked to come home at five without the smell of something cooking in the oven."

"But Mr. Jenkins?"

"The plumber, I did call him for professional reasons in the beginning…if you were wondering. But then westarted talking about my husband, and how I could get away from it...Scott, he was in love with me."

"Then why did you kill him?"

"He killed my daughter…my baby. That wasn't part of the deal. To him, she was the only thing standing in the way of what he wanted…a childless life for the two of us." Brass pulls out the shiny silver bracelets from his hip pocket. The short click as they close around her wrist and the cop reading her rights doesn't stop her before she's said everything. "He said I should have thanked him for it. I never wanted anything to happen to her!"

* * *

**...Okay so I know when I read fanfics I think that people who beg for reviews constantly get really annoying after a while, but this one time I'm holding the next chapter hostage until I get at least five more reviews...**


	10. Walk This Way

**Sadly, here comes the end. It's not a sad ending, but it's the end none the less. Maybe there'll be a sequel, but maybe not because the seconds always end up like crap. It's almost done, but we'll see about it.**

Chapter 10-- Walk This Way

"Is that the last box?" Greg questions taking the brown box off her hands and sets it down beside its pair on the sofa.

She protests against hisvast lack of patience"There was only two to begin with!"

"And it takes you that long to pack a box?"

"If you just shove everything in a box unfolded, then yes it wouldn't take that long. I have to fold everything because I hate to iron, and I don't wear things wrinkled like a certain someone I know." She tugs at his shirt that had probably come from the pile on the bathroom floor after being sniffed a couple of times to determine whether it was clean enough to wear or not.

"I don't like ironing or folding, but I made macaroni and cheese. Want some?"

"Once weget my stuff moved then we'll talk about food…real food." She pulls a list out of her back pocket. "Hairdryer…check. Toothbrush and tooth paste…" She checks each off the paper with the pen taken from behind her ear.

"I guess I'll take these to the car…"

"I never said anything about a car."

"What do you mean no car? How else would we get there?" He tries to look around the two boxes in his arms.

"On foot. Follow me." She answers grabbing up her bag and heading toward the door.

Greg whines once again. "Sara, where are you taking me?"

"What did I tell you? Watch your step."

"Ouch!" He trips on the stairs; enough to expect two bruised shins in the morning, but not enough to actually fall up them. "Are we there yet?"

"No, hold on!" Shehollers like a mother of two trapped in her mini van for a two hour car ride to grandma's house.

Sara stops once she's at the top of the stairs in front of the first door. Greg, on the other hand, is unaware of such action, but does manage to come to some sort of a stop when the boxes come in contact with Sara's back and then straight down to the floor.

"Hold these please." She throws her bags back to him as she digs through her pockets for the key. "Thanks."

"Wait, we didn't go very far. Is this really it?" He looks around seeing that it was still the same building.

"Hi neighbor! You didn't even bother to tell me that the apartment upstairs was for rent when I was looking for a place? I had to find it for myself."

"I didn't know…wait, there's furniture in here." He brings her stuff in and sets it in the middle of the living room floor.

"I had Nick and Warrick stop after shift and pick up the stuff out of storage."

"You told them before me? You know I could have helped."

"They offered to do it, and said I should keep it a surprise."

"You just think I'm a weakling who can't lift furniture to save his life, don't you? I'll tell you, I may be from California, but I can move couches like any other Texan!" He sits down in a huff.

"Now this is going to work…me living right upstairs?"

"I don't know…we'll have to see about that." He pulls her down from her perfectly comfortable standing position to fall in to her seat beside him on the couch. "If one day you pick up a new hobby of tap dancing in the afternoons when I'm attempting to sleep, then we'll have a problem."

"Tap dancing?"

"Yes, but it's a long story."

"Involving blonde hair and blue eyes perhaps?"

"Yeah, but she was a guy...I think this arrangement is better for everyone."

* * *

**A/N- Hope y'all liked it! Kudos to whoever can name who sang the songs that I used to name the chapter titles...**


End file.
